A Temporary Arrangement

by Pamela Fudge

  It almost worked, she was beginning to feel good about him again, and to forgive him for not being just what - and where - she wanted when she needed him - until she realised just what she was doing.

  She rose from the water impatiently, splashing the floor in her haste and annoyance, saying crossly, 'You're just making excuses for him,' and knowing that she really was doing just that made her angry all over again.

  The towel was applied with such vigour that her skin positively glowed, and she knew that, for two pins she would ring Andrew again, with no consideration for his precious rest and relaxation, and tell him just what she thought of him.

  How can you be grateful? she asked herself, for flowers and jewellery that were probably chosen by a secretary on his instruction. How could he do other than compliment you on your appearance, when he practically tells you what to wear?

  Into her mind, sneakily, crept the memory of the time, one spring, when she was very run down after a bad bout of 'flu.’ Sam had appeared from no-where, wrapped her up warmly and driven here miles into the country, just because she had happened to mention that she was very fond of primroses. He had found them, too, and the sight of them growing wild had lifted her spirits far more than the delivery of an expensive bouquet would have done. When she had asked him why he'd gone to so much trouble, he'd said that it was worth it to see her smile.

  He has more time, she reminded herself, but she knew as she did so that it was just an excuse. She was becoming more and more uncomfortable with the turn her thoughts were taking, but it didn't help at all when she realised that though the engagement ring was the only jewellery that Sam had ever given her, she much preferred that one piece they had chosen together to all the more showy trinkets that Andrew had presented her with.

  Even as Roz was dressing, taking infinite care and attention to detail, she knew that if she was wise she would not go out in Sam's company that night. In her vulnerable state, she was far too susceptible to Sam's special brand of charm. She was very aware that any more dalliances like the one in the garden could cause her to make more unfavourable comparisons between the two men in her life, and question her carefully laid plans for the future into the bargain if she wasn’t very careful.

  'Oh, for heaven's sake,' she outlined her lips with a surprisingly steady hand, 'Aren't you being a little over-dramatic, Rosalind Blake? There is just no comparison you can make between those two men. Andrew, for all his faults, is a city gent, with all the qualities that you've ever looked for in a husband – a man who totally understands your ambitions and the life you wish to lead. Sam - well - Sam is Sam, and you've known him for far too long to have your head turned by his admitted charm or by his handsome face,' she paused for breath, before reminding herself in the firmest tone, 'and besides, you can't possibly let Aunt Ellen or Win down like that.'

  She didn't bother to add that she deserved an outing, if only to make up for the disappointment she had suffered at Andrew's hands that day, but the thought was there, right in the forefront of her mind - and, more uncomfortably - the rejoinder surfaced that it would just serve Andrew right if she ended the evening in Sam's very warm, and sometimes tempting, arms.

  'There,' Roz gave a final, satisfied pat to her aunt's, for once, tamed and neatly set hair.

  'Oh,' Ellen twisted this way and that before the mirror, 'don't I look nice? You have done a lovely job. Win will be that put out,' she added, in such a satisfied tone, that Roz chanced a little grin behind the blue clad back.

  'You're really looking forward to this, aren't you?' she brushed a silver hair from the sleeve of the older woman's dress and smiled at her fondly.

  'I am,' her aunt positively beamed. 'It's such a treat for us to be going out with you two. I know we go out with our club from time to time, but they're all old biddies like us. It's much more exciting to have Sam take us out.'

  'Who's an old biddy?' Sam put his head round the door, and looked from one to the other. 'I don't see any.' He winked at Roz and asked, 'Who's the babe with the posh hair-do? Don't I get an introduction?'

  Aunt Ellen twirled a little awkwardly on shoes that were a little high for her, but managed to spread the pleats of her skirt quite satisfactorily. 'Don't I look lovely?'

  'So modest, too,' he laughed, and planted a smacking kiss on the wrinkled cheek, before putting a careless arm around each of them, and saying in all seriousness, 'You look gorgeous, Ellen, and,' he turned to Roz, his voice deepening, 'so do you.'

  It was just a silly compliment, nothing at all to get excited about, but her heart wouldn't listen and its beat accelerated until she was quite breathless. She knew, then, exactly why she had spent too much time and effort on getting ready, and why it was suddenly worth it.

  The two women stood for a moment in the shelter of Sam's arms. They were all smiling, and it seemed to Roz as if that was how they belonged, in the tight circle that made them almost closer than just family. Then they separated, and she had to suppress a shiver.

  Fanciful, she chided herself, and skipped off upstairs to fetch her jacket, with a brief, 'Won't be long,' flung over her shoulder.

  She wasted long minutes in front of the mirror waiting for the hectic flush on her cheeks to die down and for the sparkle in her eyes to dim. It seemed ridiculous to be so full of anticipation about a simple meal in a local hotel with people she had known for years, when she spent a great deal of her time in London helping to entertain clients in some of the best restaurants in the city.

  She checked her appearance for the umpteenth time, unable to resist that one last look before she left the room.

  Had she tried too hard? Would Sam think her too sophisticated? He had seemed to like the way she looked when she was downstairs. She scowled at her reflection, and then narrowed her green eyes and tried to see herself as he might have done.

  She always tried to look her best, she reminded herself. There was no reason at all for tonight to be different, and she owed it to her aunt and Win to make an extra effort to match the trouble they had gone to in looking good for the evening. She mustn't let the side down.

  But was the silk suit too dressy, the green too green, the straight skirt too short, and the matching accessories simply too much?

  In the end Roz lost all patience with herself - and about time, too, she fumed - wondering what on earth was the matter with her. She wore the suit all the time in London, for heaven's sake. It always made her feel good bringing out the red in her hair, as it did, and the green of her eyes. It was comfortable, it was elegant, and if Sam didn't like it - tough. And why was she worried about what he liked anyway? Roz picked up her bag, at last, and went downstairs.

  'About time, too,' Aunt Ellen turned from the mirror and gave her hair one last pat. 'I thought you must have decided to change, or something.'

  'Why?' Roz couldn't keep the agitation from her tone, 'Don't I look all right in this? Do you think I should change?'

  'I think you look absolutely charming. It's a beautiful suit. I noticed,' she gave a delighted chuckle, 'that Sam couldn't keep his eyes off you, even after all the time you’ve known each other.'

  'He couldn't?' Roz didn't even try to ignore the warm glow that the words gave her, but then she looked round and asked, 'Where is he anyway?'

  'Oh, he went round to fetch Win so, now that you're finally here, we'd just as well go on out.' Her aunt reached for her cashmere shawl, and Roz helped to tuck it around her shoulders. 'It's at times like this,' she confided, 'that I do wish I had a better car. It’s fine for the cash and carry, but I just hope that Sam has given those seats a good clean.'

  Laughing they went outside arm in arm to find Sam waiting by the front door resplendent, Roz noticed belatedly, in an unfamiliar dark suit and, unheard of for him, a collar and tie.

  'Where's your cap, chauffeur?' she grinned, and then gaped at the sight of the limousine parked in the place of the old estate car, dropping her jaw still more at the real live uniformed chauffeur holding the rear door open. ‘Oh
, my God, is that a Mercedes, and is that really a chauffeur?’

  Aunt Ellen recovered first, sweeping into the luxury car to the manner born, and settled herself, regally erect, beside a still faintly stunned and over-awed Win.

  'I'm impressed,' Roz whispered, as she, too, prepared to glide forward.

  Sam grinned, and she caught a tantalizing hint of cologne as he leaned toward her and, close to her ear he breathed, 'So am I,' as his gaze lingered over the shimmering green of her suit.

  Inside of the car the two older women had found their tongues with a vengeance, and they chattered nineteen to the dozen for the whole of the smooth ride. Roz found that her tongue actually seemed to be tied in knots, and that it was taking her all of her time to cope with a heart-beat that had begun to race out of control from the minute that Sam had taken his place on the seat close beside her.

  Ridiculous, she told herself, as part of her itched to move away and set a safe space between them, and another, more insistent part, urged her to move closer yet, and to put her hand out to cover the tanned skin of the fingers that rested casually on the knee of the dark suit.

  Roz shivered suddenly and clasped her hands tightly in her lap, jumping almost out of her seat when Sam touched her fingers, and asked, 'Are you cold?'

  'Who me?'

  My God, she asked herself, did that little, pathetic squeak really come out of her own mouth.

  'Could you turn the heater up, please?'

  Sam's authoritative request made her protest, in a voice that was fractionally stronger, 'I'm not cold, really. A goose walked over my grave that was all.'

  For the rest of the short drive Roz let the excited conversation of the two women, interspersed by comments from Sam, flow over and around her while she gave herself a severe lecture on the foolishness of letting a handsome face, and equally handsome compliments, turn her head and effect her heart. It seemed to work, and she was pleased to notice that she could accept Sam's hand as he helped her from the car without so much as a tremor in her own.

  The two older women twittered and coo-d like birds as they admired and approved of the hotel that Sam had chosen and, like birds, they preened and tidied their brilliant feathers, straightening a pleat here and a fold there.

  'How do we look?' they asked in unison, with a last confident pat, also in unison, of the neatly coiffured heads.

  'Wonderful,' Sam took his place between them and, offering each an arm, he swept them forward into the hotel foyer.

  It was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do and Roz was quite aware of that. So, why then, she asked herself impatiently, did she immediately feel like a spare part and wish that she hadn't bothered to come? She was ashamed, and bitterly disappointed that she could be so absolutely childish.

  She allowed a moment to collect herself, and then she took a deep, pull-yourself-together, breath before straightening her shoulders and following the laughing trio into the building with a brilliant smile pinned firmly in place.

  Roz never felt left out again, not even for a moment. Sam divided himself, neatly, and equally, between the three of them and she found that she was actually enjoying herself hugely. He was funny, he was charming, and so relaxed himself that every tense knot that had been caused by the stresses of the last week unravelled, until Roz felt warm and mellow and at peace with the whole world.

  The peace was rudely shattered, when a young, and very pretty girl approached the table to ask for Sam's autograph. She was quite shy, and not at all pushy, but unfortunately her action aroused the curiosity of the majority of the other diners and several of the younger ones even formed a queue.

  The manager tried to intervene and he did at least make it very clear that anyone discovered using their mobile to take photographs would be asked to leave immediately pointing out that as guests of the hotel Sam and his party should be offered some respect and some privacy.

  Sam was patience itself, taking time to speak with each person and happily signing the serviettes and menus that were waved hopefully under his nose, but in the meantime his meal went cold and the three women were pushed and jostled in the crush.

  'Sorry about that,' he offered when the little crowd had at last dispersed, he shrugged helplessly, 'Somehow, I didn't think that anyone would recognize me here.'

  'Oh, I thought it was quite exciting, didn't you, Win?' It was easy to see that Aunt Ellen was impressed, as she added thoughtfully, 'I hadn’t realised you were quite so well known. Perhaps I'd better have a signed photo of you, myself, to display in the dining room at home.'

  'Oooh, and me.' Win wasn't about to be left out. 'I had no idea that you were really famous, Sam.'

  He laughed uproariously at that, throwing back his head and showing even white teeth.

  'Doesn't it annoy you?' Roz asked curiously, trying not to be too impressed by the easy way he handled his growing fame. 'The way those people obviously feel as if they own you, and that they have the right to your time whatever you're doing must surely be quite intrusive.'

  'It's those people, and others like them, who are putting me where I am.' His gaze held her own as he explained, 'Without them buying my CDs and paying to come to my concerts, I would still be working on a building site. I try not to lose sight of that.'

  'That's nice,' she murmured, and meant it.

  A pianist had been playing softly throughout the meal, and it was Aunt Ellen who noticed, 'Oh, listen, Sam, isn't that one of your songs from the CD that I have at home?' just a second before a discreet cough drew their attention to the manager of the hotel hovering by the table.

  'I hesitate to ask,' he said apologetically, 'but we have had several requests for you to sing. I realise that it's rather impertinent - and you must, of course, feel free to refuse...'

  Aunt Ellen clapped her hands together, and Win gave a little excited squeak. Roz felt a thrill of anticipation, but she refused to add her persuasion to theirs, wanting it to be Sam's decision, and his alone.

  Everyone was looking their way expectantly, but Sam didn't move until he had asked each of his own guests if they minded. His own expression was carefully blank, Roz noticed, with no indication given of his own feelings, but when he rose to his feet it was with relaxed ease, and he strolled over to the pianist with the briefest smile to acknowledge the enthusiastic applause that greeted his move.

  Roz realised, as she watched him chatting to the musician, that it was actually a while since she had heard him sing. Yet in the early days she had been a regular when he had sung in country and western clubs locally, dressed in shabby denims and the battered cowboy hat which had become almost his trade mark, but taken nothing away from his admitted good-looks.

  Her aunt and Win were almost beside themselves, and twittering with excitement by the time Sam had professed himself satisfied with the music chosen, and was seated on the high stool that the obviously delighted manager had provided.

  The young girl who had approached him initially left her table to sit, cross-legged and adoring, at his feet. She was immediately joined by several others of a similar age, and if Roz had still been in her teens she knew she would have had to fight the strongest urge to do the same. She was impressed that everyone appeared to be adhering to the no photographs ruling and there wasn’t a mobile to be seen

  From the opening line of the first song, Sam held his small audience in the palm of his hand, and watching him Roz was enthralled. The deep timbre of his voice rose and fell with each closely followed note, bringing unexpected goose-bumps to Roz's arms. He’d always had a good voice but, if anything, it had improved with age and experience and was now exceptional.

  'Isn't he wonderful?' Aunt Ellen enthused, and Roz had to bite her tongue to prevent herself giving voice to the impatient, Ssh, that rose to her lips.

  She sat motionless, elbows on table, chin on hands, her gaze fixed on Sam, completely carried along with the magic that he carelessly wove around his audience. Roz followed his every move and treasured every golden note.<
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  The girl at his feet rose suddenly, breaking the spell for Roz. She stepped into the space beside Sam as if it were where she belonged, her pretty face tilted to one side as she stared into his eyes and took the words of the song for her own.

  The sour, bitter taste of jealousy filled Roz's throat until she almost gagged. She watched as her fingers of their own volition, and despite the pretty bronze-painted nails, curved into vicious claws that itched to tear the smile from the girl's pale face. Reminding herself that she was little more than a besotted child didn’t help.

  How dare she? Roz raged silently. Who does she think she is? Doesn't she know that Sam is mine? Mine. All mine.

  It took some moments, long moments when she had to force herself to remain seated, and silent - when what she wanted to do was stand up and claim him publicly as her fiancé - to get herself under some sort of control. When she did, Roz was appalled.

  What are you doing? she demanded of herself. What the hell do you think you are doing? He is not yours - he has never, ever, been yours. He never will be yours.

  He turned then, away from the girl who had stepped back when she realised she no longer had his attention. His smile was clearly for Roz - for her, and her alone. But she was determined, by then, not to let his very obvious charm affect her again and she stared back into eyes that were shadowed by the dim lights, refusing to return his smile with one of her own.

  Appreciative applause told her that the song had ended, but still Sam held her gaze, his own quite steady. She wanted to glare at him, she wanted to frown her displeasure but knew she had no right to feel it, let alone show it. Most of all, she wanted to turn away, to raise a careless shoulder in his direction to show him that nothing he did mattered to her at all.

  The song he began was one she wasn't familiar with, and she was too busy trying to wrestle her gaze from his to concentrate at first. The room was hushed, and Roz was vaguely conscious of the curious looks that were beginning to come her way, and that the two older women sitting with her were looking positively gooey-eyed and smiling, soft, entranced smiles.